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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638537">Phantom Alcoholic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfGrey/pseuds/ShadesOfGrey'>ShadesOfGrey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys &amp; Sophism (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Downspiral Will, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Tags Are Hard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfGrey/pseuds/ShadesOfGrey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Downspiral Will. From the start of a life-crushing moment, to having his life crushed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Hawkes/Kym Ladell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Phantom Alcoholic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: Suicide, alcolism, depression</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Three hours ago, Lauren Sinclair’s body was found in the 11th precinct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By it, a single, purple hyacinth had been lain, right next to her wide-open eyes. Hovering over her bloodied palm. Drifting, almost, left by an assassin that was in there one moment, gone the next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three, agonizing hours ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since then, William Hawkes has been in shock. Panicked, he could only run around, shouting, tending to errands. Still, the scream rang through his head, Kym Ladell’s horrified shriek. A sound of pure horror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Will didn’t leave that shock. His bones stuck together and his body was stiff at all times, his back painfully straight. Whenever he spoke, his words were garbled and it soon became difficult to speak for more than several sentences.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, to try and open his mouth and speak clearly again, Will did what any sane person would do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Go to his dentist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You see, it worked. Kinda. For maybe a week or so, Will went to a speech pathologist and attempted to get over the shock. To him, that week of constant practice, of coping and conversing with Kym, a year had passed. Two, three, seven, twelve, and so forth. Decades, centuries, and still, even as he stared long at his ticking clock, he knew only a month had truly passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One tired morning, William Hawkes was simply brushing his teeth. The taste of mint toothpaste stung a bit, but he still rinsed and spat out. He gargled his bubblegum mouthwash and that tired morning? Will stepped back from his sink and coughed into his fist, drinking far too much of it. When he recollected himself, his vision still a little hazy and his throat a little scratchy, there was a sweet tang in his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hmm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will ran his tongue along his gums, licking at his teeth. A sweetness. He glanced down to the bottle in hand, tightening his grip on it. Mouthwash, out of all things, tasted that good? The thought never grazed his mind until then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the end of the day, that bottle didn’t leave Will’s hand. It’s liquid certainly did, guzzled down his throat. He lay in his bed, flat against his back, staring at the ceiling. The following day, another empty, plastic container clattered against the ground; three, seven, twelve, and so, the bottles counted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another month. Another, weary climb from bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, Will decided to get himself together. His stomach ached and it certainly didn’t do his toilet any good to continue this habit, so he tried to control himself. Hell, when Kym discovered his new binge, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the one to force him otherwise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead of some sweet, all-too-familiar mouthwash to drink, Will discovered something cold as a replacement. Chilly, too, with a taste of… apple?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surprise!” Kym called out, her eyes sparkling. “It’s apple juice!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apple juice, huh? Haven’t tasted that in awhile.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep, and it’s healthier, kinda, too!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too bad for Kym, Will wouldn’t stick onto that. All he learned was to be more secretive, even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>quit the mouthwash thing. The next month, he got hooked onto something… interesting. Stronger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A club. That’s all it was. A bar, too, but mostly a club. Loud, blaring, flashy. When Will first took a step inside, he had no other thoughts in mind. Simply just go inside, check it out, and leave! Couldn’t be that difficult, right? Thing is, as he scanned his card and confirmed his identity, there was a sense of… anchoring? Will wanted to stay, to make his time worth the visit, and, eventually, things went downhill from there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kym found Will passed out in his bedroom. Not even in his bed, but in front of the door, collapsed, snoring. Aside from the whole fear of where Will had been, Kym found the fool somewhat cute. Occasionally, he twitched, mumbling something about his mother, but his head would loll to the side and he’d continue drooling all over again. Other times, a grin filled his face, showcasing dimples and a thin blush.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t much time to watch Will, obviously a toddler, sleep as well as a baby could. He immediately opened his eyes and, startled at the sight of Kym, scrambled around. Heaving up his body, he came to his feet, and tried to seem casual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where were you, last night?” Kym demanded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His heart ached at the thought of it, of how mindlessly and willingly he drank. How much he drank, too, and his vague, throbbing thoughts that despaired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will, I know Lauren’s gone, but -- “</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that, Kym’s words simply melted away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She said something so heartbreaking so casually, so loosely, and didn’t care about it at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, Will simply shook his head. “Kym, I need some time for myself. Please. I’ve been…” he faltered, unsure how to continue on. Thankfully, he didn’t need to; “alright,” Kym mumbled, “I’ll give you some time for yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cared. Lauren did, too. Who would die next? Kym? No, Kym wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Will’s already lost enough, from his father, to his childhood friend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That thought became a wicker to Will’s candle of hope. It burned and burned, bright and brighter. Even as a hand clasped around the candle’s flame, fingers wrapping around the fire to try and smother it, Kym stayed alive. Burning. Grinning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surviving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surviving, that’s what Will had to do. For her. For Kym Ladell, the only one left he can hold onto.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thing is, surviving’s easier when you’re drunk out of your mind. Will spent more nights out at the bar, learning the names of other regulars, too. A “Johnson Smith”, who enjoyed the cherry bite to certain red wines. Keylie Winnup, who adored the berry sweetness of Japanese wines. Phillipa Kern, the barista who kept bringing more, and more, and more drinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnson was a charitable man, who gambled when he was sober and gambled when he was drunk. He raised his bottle, shouted, took a swig, and shouted again. All of his earnings were donated to charity, even if it sunk his life, and it was clear he struggled, what with the stench of vomit on his beard. Keylie could’ve been mistaken for his wife, though in better quality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stuck with Johnson, tossed up a coin. A cheeky smirk filled her face, melting into a shaky grin with her hiccups. She was there to be for Johnson whenever he tripped or fell on his face, whenever he screamed and made a deal he couldn’t keep. Witnessing that, wondering that, Will found that he missed Kym, more now than ever. A late night, when he was downing his fourth bottle, he witnessed Keylie protecting Johnson from a fight. He hurled a fist, she pulled him back. He shouted profanities, she covered his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day after, when Kym caught Will, she only stared. For a moment, she just… stared, at Will’s shaky eyes, his quivering face, the irises that seemed more black than blue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” was all she could utter, fighting hard against tears. Again, she repeated that word, an empty shell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will, his head a ticking time bomb, couldn’t properly think. Tension headaches hurt, and so did hangovers. When he finally managed out words, they spilled from his mouth, gushing as if blood from a new wound; “I had to,” -- “I couldn’t resist,” -- “It helps me think,” -- “It was to cope.” As the man-child blubbered those words, he himself couldn’t hold back his own tears. They spilled from his face, down his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was selfish, he knew that. Selfish, a fool, a man who had his walls broken down and could only wail and sob about these broken walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kym looked away, unable to maintain stable eye contact with an unstable man. Then, she stood up, drew a sigh, and simply walked away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you mad?” Will mumbled, a question with no audible answer. Despite that, he knew the answer, deep in his heart: she was, and she was absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Livid, frustrated, enraged. If she took on the image of her emotions, her hair would be fuming fire with her arms red with boiling blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following week, Kym tried one last time. She offered to take Will out, that they’d go on a train and have a talk together while trying to sort things out. Will agreed, that it would be “nice to spend some proper time together”, especially after those two, lonely months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sadly, his mind was numb. Permanently destroyed by that alcohol, even if he hadn’t exactly been drunk that day. He thought otherwise, dark ideas stirring in his brain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Twenty minutes after the allotted time had been set, Kym was still standing alone. She’d organized just half an hour before the train would come, just in case, feeling dread creep up on her as every minute was delayed. Where was he? her worrying mind thought, where was Will?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will, unfortunately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. He just had other plans in mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Believing, rather blindly, that Will had already boarded, Kym stepped foot on the train. She’d have to meet him at the destination. Have the talk coming back, then. Maybe he just wasn’t ready yet, so she would only have to wait. Just a little longer. It wasn’t horrific; she’d waited enough already.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Kym gazed at the window sadly, watching the world blur away, Will was already at their meeting place. In fact, his heart was pounding to see that train come in. To watch it pull across the tracks, hear its whistling, high-pitched screech deepen into a low growl. If you knew the thoughts that ran across his mind, trampling his brain, you’d think he was still drunk. Maybe, in a way, he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to leave Kym, but found himself a nuisance. A burden. A waste of resources, and worthless, too, wasting his life away after one mere person had passed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, Will didn’t spend </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> his time drowning in self-pity. He thought it over, twice, thrice. And you know what? He came to the realization that there were very little, if any, people that cared about him. And that those people would be happier without him. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kym </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be happier without him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, when the whir of a train came to a shrieking stop, it wasn’t the only screaming thing in the air. Out of all those people waiting around the platform, prepared to board and leave, Will was the only one who didn’t feel anything; the only person who felt absolutely nothing, with a heart that no longer beat a thousand heartbeats a minute. In fact, if you looked closely, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> closely, a person had jumped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You already know, but for the people in the back; </span>
  <em>
    <span>Will</span>
  </em>
  <span> jumped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a moment where, as Will leaped, he regretted it. Wished he could see Kym’s smile, just one last time, feel her warmth in a tight hug. Wondered if this was the right choice, and a moment where, as he felt the impact of a train ramming him through, he wished to turn back time. Sadly, Will was no time turner, nor any kind of magician. He was a mortal, a weak mortal, who was endlessly attacked by demonic, mental Vikings as his walls came down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So was Kym, too, and she knew that, but she wasn’t as weak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anything, she was stronger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her strides were longer, her smile wider. She lived despite the death of her two friends, the thought to catch the Purple Hyacinth and the thought to avenge them on her mind. Lived, even as the reminder of Will’s body against the train soaked her nightmares, as the screams ransacked her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If the world’s gonna try and kill me, too, I’ll live to spite it.”</span>
</p>
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